


Scorpius, and I, the Author, are both Suffering

by OccasionalStorytelling



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: M/M, criminal partners au, do you like suffering, scorpius has a horrible life au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionalStorytelling/pseuds/OccasionalStorytelling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>scorpius has no albus. life is horrible. it gets better. then worse. then much worse. then better. happy ending. add your own details, this is mainly au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorpius, and I, the Author, are both Suffering

“I’m sorry,” mouthed Albus as Rose led him out of the train compartment, away from Scorpius. Scorpius waved a little and tried not to look dejected. 

 

 _It’s okay,_ he thought. _Someone else will be along soon._

 

And someone was! _Remember not to sing this time,_ Scorpius thought. _That’s what drove them off last time._ And he didn’t sing. And the girl who stopped briefly in his compartment ended up leaving, oddly enough. But someone else would come along.

 

And that someone else took one look at Scorpius and was off. And so was the next person. And the next.

 

Funny how long a train ride is when you’re spending it alone. It’s a lot less fun to look out the window. Scorpius didn't touch his sweets the whole ride. Well, he ate _some_. But not a lot.

 

Hours later: The Dining Hall.

 

“Slytherin!” yelled the Sorting Hat. Harry Potter’s son walked towards the table. Scorpius wanted to call out to him, but—the kid’s name was Albus, right? Al?—Albus hadn’t seemed too excited to see him on the train. Scorpius sat alone. He noticed that Albus was soon joined by several other excitable first year boys.

 

Scorpius picked at his meal and tried to talk to some older boys.

 

Days later: Potions.

 

“I can fix this,” muttered Scorpius, blushing as he scrambled for some ingredients. The potion had blown up. His randomly assigned partner didn’t really care about the project and was taking this opportunity to laugh at Scorpius, as was most of the potions classroom. Scorpius’s face remained bright red even as he poured in the counter-ingredient and the potion settled down. His pale skin made the embarrassment worse. 

 

 _You’d think Voldemort’s son would be capable of more,_ a tiny voice whispered in his head. _I mean, I’m not Voldemort’s son. But you’d think they’d give me some credit if_ they _think I am._

 

He was pretty sure that the pretty boy, the black sheep Potter, the slytherin in a family of gryffindor, the beautifully cut boy who wasn’t laughing at him was named Albus. Albus was looking away, intent on his own potion. He’d been assigned to Rose. He didn’t have many friends in Slytherin—Rose was making his friends for him. 

 

Rose is also pretty, Scorpius thought. He decided the warm feeling in his chest when he looked at that corner of the room was due to a crush on Rose.

 

_No way would she go out with you._

 

Scorpius refocused on his potions project.

 

That year:

 

He didn’t _really_ make any friends. Only one kid talked to him, someone who was pretending to be emo and into Voldemort. Scorpius remained confident. He would find friends. Hogwarts was _about_ finding friends! He put a smile on his face to greet each day, hoping that a positive attitude would show everyone he was just here to have a good school year.

 

He didn’t go home with any contact information for another wizard his own age. McGonagall gave him a quill and smiled pityingly. She didn’t mean to patronize him, but he was a little hurt.

 

At home:

 

He twirled the quill in his fingers. He tried to look at the floor, but his mom pulled his chin up with a slender hand.

 

“No, not really,” he mumbled. “No one really likes me. Everyone thinks—“ he didn’t want to finish his sentence. Mum knew what he meant.

 

She took him to make hot chocolate, with extra marshmallows. She always knew just what to say to make him feel better. _Next year will be better._ Scorpius went to bed with a small smile, after putting the quill in its proper place on a shelf.

 

Next year:

 

No friends yet. He held out hope.

 

Mum took ill.

 

The next:

 

No bunk mate. He wondered when his unwilling partner had moved.

 

The next:

 

Trudging through the days. A brief moment of hope when he would hear his name in the hallway—

 

“I heard it’s _true,_ that he really _is—_ “

 

Smiled dropped.

 

The next: 

 

As worse as it got.

 

_It’s not that Father talked to me before. No surprise that he’s distant now._

 

_I wish I had a friend. A good friend._

 

Years:

 

He’d dropped out of Hogwarts. He wandered around Diagon Alley, knocking off people’s hats with magic and hiding. He’d stopped smiling.

 

Eventually he stopped hiding.

 

Eventually he started getting more adventurous. _People assume the worst anyways._

 

Many events transpired.

 

The Moment:

 

Harry Potter caught him trying to steal a time turner. _Guess I’ll never see Mum again. At least he didn’t get me where I was last week._

 

It was bad for two reasons:

He had no gang to back him up. (No friends, remember.)

Harry Potter’s son was with him. Albus. God, he was cute. Why was he here? 

 

Fluttery feelings.

 

Ministry trial. Sentenced to community service. Supervised by Albus Potter.

 

“Why are you humming while you work?” Albus.

 

Scorpius was collecting airplane messages in the Ministry. “What?”

 

“You’re humming.” 

 

“No, I’m not.” Scorpius, taken aback.

 

“Yeah you are.”

 

Scorpius blushed.

 

“It’s cute.” A warm smile from Albus.

 

More blushing. _Oh god he’s cute._

 

“something something sweets, something…friends,” mumbled Albus.

 

Scorpius gasped. Audibly gasped, now that was a new one. He hadn’t sung that song in years, not since his mom died. He hadn’t realized he’d been singing it. “I gotta go.” He bolted away. Albus called after.

 

“But I’m supervising you!”

 

Scorpius was already gone. He was given another two weeks, after he recovered himself enough to come back. 

 

Three weeks later:

 

Three weeks of failed pickup lines.

 

_I think he likes me. Maybe. I certainly like him._

_He might not know I like him._

_If he knew he wouldn’t be so unguarded around me._

 

They would occasionally share a hug. Or a secret. They’d become fast friends.

 

“I can’t believe I was dumb enough to follow Rose out of your compartment,” Albus would laugh. 

 

 _Me neither, Albus,_ Scorpius mentally sighed.

 

_Here’s a thought:_

_Haha, like every thought I’m having._

_Anyway._

_What if he doesn’t want a bad boy?_

 

Scorpius carefully considered this.

 

_Hmm._

 

Five weeks later:

 

He’d started smiling again. At children. At babies. At strangers on the street.

 

_Oh god, I must really like him._

 

He’d started trusting people again. He’d started singing a little more often. In his shower, at first, then anywhere in his manor out of earshot of his dad. Then as he walked to the Ministry.

 

He tipped his hat to Albus, who giggled— _who actually giggles?_ _—_ and bounced inside to his community service.

 

Eventually:

 

“Albus, I like you.”

 

“Aww, you’re my best friend too!”

 

Crushed.

 

_Of course he doesn’t like you like that. You could be Voldemort’s son, who would like that guy? I bet he was even lying about being your best friend. Rose is his best friend. You don’t run in the same crowd. Why did you even try to be someone you’re not?_

 

Escaping “parole” of community service. 

 

One year later:

 

Albus missed Scorpius. So much. That’s why it came as such a shock to discover in the daily paper that he had died.

 

“I did all I could,” said Harry Potter.

 

Scorpius had tried to raid the Ministry for a Time Turner. He’d cried through his spells, and he could barely see. Accidentally, he got in the way of a spell meant to block a door. It hit him. He went down.

 

They couldn’t even find any pieces.

 

“I did what had to be done,” said Harry Potter.

 

“No you didn’t,” Albus dully responded. “He hadn’t even found one.”

 

“I just wanted to see my mom,” said a quote in the newspaper. “I just wanted—“ it was cut off. Speculation ran rampant that he’d really wanted the time turner to see his real father.

 

Albus knew him too well. The quote, probably screamed/cried across a Ministry hall, was the truth.

 

“I never meant for anyone to die,” Harry Potter whispered. “Ever. Not in school, and not now.”

 

That night, Albus packed a few meager belongings and left the house of his parents. He went into the hills and never looked back.

 

Days later:

 

Moaning. Who would be moaning in the wilderness? Albus held his wand carefully in front of him as he entered the cave. He stepped in something squishy and was about to recoil in horror when—carpet?

 

He inched forward. 

 

“AAAARGH!” came a wrenching scream. Albus flinched, then ran forward, wand out.

 

And saw Scorpius, on the floor of the cave, carefully binding his abdominals with a cloth. He didn’t see Albus. “That’s definitely a rib,” he muttered. He turned, and jumped a little when he saw the wand and the intruder.

 

Scorpius glared, and put his hands up. “Come to turn me in?”

 

Albus was speechless.

 

Dinner:

 

Scorpius had a whole setup. He was living out here on what he’d taken from Malfoy Manor. He’d been attempting to doctor himself for a couple days now after he barely managed to apparate out of the Ministry. Albus and had much better truing working with the Ministry. Albus dressed his wounds. Scorpius dressed a salad.

 

They ate. They talked. They laughed.

 

That night, they cuddled. For warmth. Clearly for warmth.

 

 _He doesn’t really like you,_ said Scorpius’s voice. Scorpius snuggled closer to Albus and closed his eyes to dream.

 

Over time:

 

The Potter family slowly broke apart. Harry became absorbed in his work, and it just went downhill from there.

 

Albus and Scorpius got closer and closer. They’d started robbing from the rich, and giving to the poor together. They were the perfect criminal partnership. They were close.

 

They were really close.

 

One day, looking over the edge of a bridge:

 

“So we’re really gonna do this job. Steal the Hufflepuff cup.” Scorpius.

 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Albus smiled.

 

“You know, I used to have this huge crush on you,” Scorpius confessed.

 

“I still do,” Albus said, and leaned close enough to Scorpius to reds their mouths together.

 

“Nerd,” whispered Scorpius, smiling as the two separated their lips but came together in a hug.

 

Years later:

 

“I guess we really can’t invite our families. Due to the nature of our lifestyle.”

 

“Eloping it is, Albus.”

 

“As you wish, Scorpius.”

 

And they both lived happily ever after.


End file.
